Sunday morning on the back deck. Newspaper and cereal. Flowers and birds. Treated to a brief glimpse of a solitary hummer.
I happened to look up at just the right time, just as a hummingbird paid a visit to the Bee Balm and Monkshood — way at the back of the yard; he was not near and hovered only briefly. But, however brief the sighting, I had no trouble appreciating it, even revelling in it.
When we're up at the cottage, we can see hummers almost any time of the day, only a few feet away. They visit the feeder that hangs just outside the porch window, the porch where we congregate, particularly in hot weather. These tiny critters are bold, not much intimdated by the proximity of humans. They feed at will, constantly coming and going, whirring and buzzing, hovering and darting. Amazing creations they!
How could one not appreciate such visits?
Yet, when I'm up there for several weeks and can see hummers almost whenever I choose, I sometimes forget that this is no common sight, have to remind myself of that.
I don't have to remind myself to be appreciative when I catch a fleeting and distant glimpse of a hummer from my suburban perch, however. I automatically value it — don't have to think about it.
That's part of being human, it seems. When we are surrounded by bounty, we tend not to cherish as we should. We don't mean to be like that, but we tend to need reminding. I am pleased to have been reminded on this fine morning. What a treat!